mp
mills, and I thought I might fill the bill."

"I guess you could, if the places aren't all taken. But, why don't you
try mining?"

"I don't believe I'm old enough."

"Oh, yes, you are. I came to California, 'way back in '49, when I was
only a boy, and I've been mining ever since."

"My father was a miner," said Fred.

"Was he? What's his name?"

"Norman Stanley."

"What! Norman Stanley, who used to work in the Eagle's Claw mine?"

"Yes," replied the boy, who had often heard his father speak of the mine
mentioned.

"Well, well! I know him like a brother. Just tell him you met old Bill
Gardner, and he'll remember me all right."

"I will."

"And I'll speak a good word for you when we get to the new diggings,"
went on the old man. "I know every miner in these parts worth knowing.
G'lang there, Kangaroo."

"I thought you said the donkey's name was Jack Rabbit."

"No, that's not his name. You see I call him something different every
time."

"Why?" inquired Fred.

"Well, I think one name gets sort of tiresome for an animal. And then I
think, if I call him a different name every time, he'll think maybe I'm
somebody else, and he'll go faster. He knows me so well he won't pay any
attention to me, and he knows I won't hit him. But if I call him a
different name, he may think there's a different man on his back, and he
may run a bit."

"He doesn't seem to be going to."

"No, I guess not. G'lang there, Hippopotamus!"

That name seemed to have no effect, either, and, with an exclamation of
disgust, the old miner settled back in the saddle and let the donkey
take its own time.

Fred found he could easily keep up with the small animal, and the miner
chatted pleasantly until they came to New Strike. Then, at the
suggestion of Mr. Gardner, the boy went to the superintendent of the
stamp mills, to apply for a job.

"Let me know how you make out," said the miner, as he was about to part
from the boy.

"Where will I find you?"

"Oh, I'm going to put up at the hotel. There's only one, so you won't
have much trouble finding me. Just ask for Old Bill Gardner, and
anybody'll point me out. Well, good luck."

"Thank you," answered Fred, as he started toward the stamping mills, the
thundering noise of which could be heard for a long distance.

"Well, what can I do for you?" asked the superintendent sharply, as Fred
entered the office.

"Do you want any boys to drive ore carts? I heard you did."

"We did, bu